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"He was always very kind to me," said this one, that one, and the other. Bradwyn, noting some of these unusual visitors, observed that Reckage had a knack of pleasing the lower classes and half-educated persons generally. He heard a Bible-reader say to the footman: "Take ye heed, watch and pray; for ye know not when the time is!" and he shuddered at this exhibition of bad taste.
"But you forget that Reckage is going to marry Miss Carillon," said Aumerle. "Miss Carillon will always advise the safe course." "That's all very well," said Bradwyn, "but there has been too much arrangement in that marriage! I can tell you how the engagement came about. She was intimate with his aunt. He acquired the habit of her society on all decorous occasions. Still, he never proposed.
This does not look as though a very near alliance were in contemplation." "There are prettier women than she in the world," said Aumerle. "I have never seen her," said Penborough. "Large eyes, a small head, and the devil of a temper," said Bradwyn; "and sympathies there never was a young woman with so many sympathies!
"Probably," replied Hatchett, after a minute's hesitation. "Probably, Orange ... in time." "Don't you like him?" said Penborough. "Like him!" answered Hatchett, rolling up his eyes. "He's an angel!" "He calls him an angel as though he wished he were one in reality," said Bradwyn. "I know these generous rivals!" Ullweather stood gnawing his upper lip. "Orange," he said, at last.
"True," said Randall Hatchett, "for there is nothing more fatal to a political career than brilliant impromptus and spirited orations. A statesman's words, like butcher's meat, should be well weighed." "You have so many prescriptions for success," said Bradwyn, "that I wonder you ain't President yourself." "Reckage has taken us all in," said Ullweather. "By no means," said Bradwyn.
Foremost in the little company on this occasion stood Sir Edward Ullweather and Nigel Bradwyn, both private secretaries, and each secretly convinced that his peculiar powers would have found brilliant, volcanic opportunities of demonstration in the other's more promising berth.
Ullweather, whose life had been devoted to the study of agricultural problems, was subordinate to the Secretary of State for War. Bradwyn, on the other hand, who had planted his soul in the East, was now learning what he could, at the nation's expense, of the nation's domestic policy.
"I know it," said Randall Hatchett. "Why didn't you speak to him?" asked Aumerle. "Because," said Bradwyn, "our good Hatchett is not so sure of himself that he can afford to be civil even to a President out of fashion!" No one smiled except Hatchett himself, because each one felt it was unwise to encourage Bradwyn's peculiar humour.
How the dickens did he pass us?" The men glanced up at a solitary figure which now appeared descending the broad staircase. In silence, and with a studied expression of contempt, without a look either to the right or to the left, the unpopular leader passed through the hall and out into the street. "A lonely beggar, after all," said Bradwyn.
He walked along toward Almouth House in a mood of many vexations, cursing the impudence of Bradwyn and Ullweather, wondering whether he had done wisely, after all, in engaging himself to the blameless Miss Carillon, sighing a little over a rumour which had reached him about Sara de Treverell and the Duke of Marshire, deploring the obstinacy of Robert Orange where Mrs. Parflete was concerned.
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